


Pray for Me, My Priest

by WevyrDove



Category: Supernatural, Wincest - Fandom
Genre: Afterlife, Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Blasphemy, Bloodplay, Bottom!Sam, Demon!Dean, Dubious Consent, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Oral Sex, Priest!Sam, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Stigmata, Wincest - Freeform, non explicit mentions of childhood sexual abuse, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:06:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WevyrDove/pseuds/WevyrDove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Sam is desperate for a solution to the church's financial woes; the church and adjoining monastery have been his home since he was orphaned as a child, and he would do anything to save it from being closed. His fervent prayers are answered when help comes from an unexpected source, but Sam soon learns that it comes at much too high a cost.</p>
<p>This work was written as part of the <a href="http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/">Supernatural Reverse Bang Challenge</a> on LiveJournal.</p>
<p>The masterpost for the beautiful art work can be found <a href="http://sau1412.livejournal.com/19683.html">here</a> on LiveJournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was fortunate enough to get my first choice of art, and had the pleasure of working with [sau1412](http://sau1412.livejournal.com/) who is a brilliant artist as well as a sweetheart. So much of this story comes from her ideas, and I had so much fun discussing them together and reveling in our mutual love for wincest and bottom!sam. I really enjoyed working with her on this project and hope we might collaborate again in the future! 
> 
> Also many thanks go to [Drunk_Idjit](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Drunk_Idjit/) for beta'ing and just being plain awesome!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story.
> 
> xoxo,  
> WevyrDove

Sam extinguished the candles one by one. The church was empty and dark save for the flicker of the votive candles in the apse. Sam let his eyes adjust to the dark and then knelt before the altar, gazing at the large crucifix that hung above it. He had always felt unnerved by the way the carving of Jesus seemed to watch him; he imagined those blank eyes could see down into his sinful core. Still, night was when Sam felt most at peace; he didn’t have to share the church with the parishioners or the other brothers in his order, and the silence and dark were like a security blanket.

Sam lowered his gaze and fingered the small crucifix that he wore about his neck, his hand warming the silver as he held it. He didn’t touch the amulet that lay under his cassock, against his skin. He made the sign of the cross, and started praying. His prayers were simple, and selfless to his mind. He only wanted more people to believe and join the church, and perhaps more donations to the monastery that was connected to the church. But lately his prayers had become more desperate. He was the youngest of the brotherhood by far; care of the elder monks was draining the remainder of the church’s funds at a rapid pace. Without significant donations, it was uncertain if the monastery would last the year, but its fate was of little interest to the increasingly secular community. There had even been an offer from a developer, a Mr. Alistair Bentley, to purchase the grounds and buildings and turn them into a housing complex. The current abbot, Father Michael, was seriously considering accepting the deal, even though it would mean the closure of the church. The brothers would be separated and transferred to other monasteries.

It had been a lot different a couple of decades ago when the Catholic population had been much greater in central Kansas. Back then, Sam himself had been a ward of the Brothers of St. Ignatius. He had been suddenly and violently orphaned, without any other known relatives. He might have been shunted into the foster care system if not for the kindness of Father Henry. Father Henry was the abbot of the monastery as well as the head priest at St. Ignatius Church. Initially, most of the other monks had kept their distance from Sam, the horrific story of how he had lost both his father and brother was common knowledge, and there had even been whispers that Sam had something to do with their deaths. Father Henry had no such qualms however, and personally oversaw Sam’s education, both spiritual and academic. Sam was too young to become a novice, so he helped out with menial duties around the church and monastery. He joined them at the hours of prayer and was allowed to serve as altar boy during the public services. Eventually, when he came of age, he was allowed to join the monastery as a novice. There was no question of another path for Sam; the church and monastery were his life.

As for the circumstances that brought him to the church, Sam kept those dark memories locked up tight in his heart. He had never even confessed them, although he been tempted to do so to Father Henry many a time. The priest had passed several years ago without Sam ever revealing his secrets.  His sinful past was the true reason he had chosen to devote his life to the church, going beyond monkhood to follow in Father Henry’s steps and become a priest. Sam believed that a life of piety, faith and service to God, would somehow cleanse him. Most days, he could convince himself it was working.

Sam stood up, his knees sore and chilled from kneeling on the stone floor. He kissed the feet of the carved Jesus as he always did after praying. There was a draft that suddenly swept through the church, and Sam could swear he heard a voice.

_Sam…_

The votive candles blew out and Sam was left in the dark, with only the faintest light coming through the stained glass windows. He shivered despite himself. _There’s only God within these walls_ , he tried assure himself. But a nameless dread seemed to lodge itself into his heart.

…

There was a lot of chatter among the brothers when Sam arose that morning. He could hear their voices drifting up the stairs from the dining hall. He had missed Matins, the first prayer session of the day, having trouble sleeping after he went back to his room last night. His dreams had been violent and disturbing; he couldn’t recall all the details, but he remembered black eyes and hands all over his body, and he swore he heard that same voice calling his name again. He awoke feeling shaky, his cock hard and his body sweaty. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, then came back to put on his cassock and collar. The repetition and simplicity of the daily rituals soothed Sam.

He hurried down to breakfast, wondering if any of the brothers would comment on how he had missed morning prayers. He was relieved when no one seemed to notice his late arrival; there was an sense of excitement in the air, and the volume of chatter was louder than usual. Sam grabbed a plate of food and sat down next to Brother Benjamin.

“Morning, Brother Benny.” Sam greeted, before shoveling a forkful of eggs in his mouth. He found that he was ravenous.

“Morning, Father Sam.” Benny smiled, an amused twinkle in his blue eyes. “Sleep well?”

“What is everyone so worked up about?” Sam inquired, ignoring Benny’s question. “I wasn’t at Matins…”

“Everything all right, Father?” Benny asked, noticing that Sam had dark circles under his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Just didn’t sleep well.” Sam said breezily, waving off the monk’s concern.

“Ok.” Benny relented, although he still wore an expression of concern. He smiled again. “The big news is that an anonymous donor provided a hundred thousand dollars to the church this morning!”

“Wow!” Sam exclaimed. He was floored by the generosity. In recent times the largest donations they had received were only a few hundred dollars at most. “Our prayers have been answered.” Sam said reverently.

“Praise God.” Benny agreed.

Sam was elated by the news of the donation. For a few more months at least, the church and monastery would survive. He made sure he attended the rest of the prayer hours, his voice rising above the rest in song and prayer as he reveled in his renewed faith. He forgot about the voice and the nightmares.

…

It was with a full heart that he went about his evening duties. He was surprised when he extinguished the last candle to look up and see a shadowy figure in the last pew.

“Hello?” Sam called. The church was unlocked at all hours, but there were rarely visitors to the church past the hour of Vespers.

There was no answer, and Sam started walking down the aisle to speak to the person. If someone was in the church at such a late hour, clearly something of grave importance had called them here. A clang behind Sam startled him and he turned to see the chalice that had stood on the altar rolling on its side on the floor. When he turned back to the pews, the figure was gone.

Sam felt a chill. He hadn’t seen or heard the person enter the church, and now he hadn’t seen them leave. He wondered if he was imagining things. Sam hurried back to the altar to pick up the chalice, setting it back carefully. He took a quick walk around the perimeter of the church, flicking his flashlight over the pews. He saw nothing and no one, but he couldn’t quell his disquiet. Sam gave up and went before the altar again. He knelt on the stone tiles, asking for blessings for the anonymous donor. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as he left the church and went back to his room.

When he got into bed, he realized he had forgotten to kiss the feet of Jesus on the cross. It seemed a small thing, and he knew God would forgive him for forgetting, but it also seemed to be a warning to him; that faith was a tenuous thing and that man by nature was prone to forsake it.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next week, the figure didn’t reappear and Sam didn’t have any nightmares. He felt relieved and grateful, and told himself that what he had seen was due to lack of sleep. The money that the church received was split between supplies for the church and monastery. Father Michael was still considering the developer’s offer however; he was all too aware that the donation was only a temporary band-aid. The brothers were split in their opinions on the matter, but ultimately Father Michael would make the decision as the head of their order.

Sam prayed for more help, hoping maybe more donations would start coming in now that the church had gained a little press due to the anonymous donor. The local newspaper had reported on the state of the church and monastery, interviewing Father Michael, and posting bucolic photos of the grounds and church. Sam had even proposed that the brothers should start making bread or beer, like some of the other orders, to generate some additional revenue. Father Michael had shot the idea down.

At the end of the week, another large donation appeared anonymously, and again the brothers were joyous and full of praise for the mysterious ways of God. Sam wondered if it was the same donor, but there were no clues to their benefactor’s identity. In fact, the donations had been left at the foot of the altar in a tin box, in the form of one hundred dollar bills. Truthfully, the cash made Sam a little uneasy; the bills were unmarked, and Sam couldn’t help but think that it might have come from a nefarious source. But why donate to a church then? Sam thought about the shadowy figure he had seen a week ago. Did the figure have something to do with the donations? The night before he had another dream, again disturbing, black eyes and blood and his name being called. This time Sam woke shuddering from an orgasm, barely stifling his cry with his pillow against his mouth. When he checked under the covers, he found his briefs smeared with his ejaculate. He was distraught and ashamed. It was true, he had pleasured himself occasionally, always confessing that sin easily, performing his penance as prescribed. But this type of “nocturnal emission” had not happened since he was a teenager.

He was subdued when he heard the news of the second gift, and again Brother Benny regarded him with concern. Sam reassured him that everything was ok, but inwardly he worried about closing up the church that night. Would he see the figure? That was when it had come to him previously; the night after the dream and the money appeared. Sam was certain they were all connected. He searched the church warily in the darkness, this time not using his flashlight. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched again even though he saw no one. He finished dousing the candles and then walked back to the altar. Sam fell to his knees wearily and began to pray, asking for forgiveness for his body’s weakness, and his own weakness for relishing the pleasure he had experienced.

_Sam…_

Sam stood and whirled around, his body prickling with fear. He held his breath as his eyes scanned the last pew. The shadowy figure was here again.

“Show yourself!” Sam shouted, anger winning over the terror running through his veins.

Suddenly he was certain the apparition was connected to the dream and the mysterious donations.

The figure approached silently, almost as if it were floating, and Sam felt fear clench his heart. But as it got closer, the figure seemed to light up from within, with a brightness that was almost too much to bear looking upon. Sam shielded his eyes with one hand, still peering at the approaching specter. Its shape was clearly human, but what human could create such blazing light?

Sam’s breath caught and his fear fell away when the figure stopped in front of him. The light faded until it became a softer glow that was comfortable for Sam to look at directly. The being in front of him was luminous, his features beautiful. His eyes blazed with incandescent blue. The word that came to Sam’s mind was _angel_ ; _angel of light, angel of God._ Sam fell to his knees in front of the radiant vision. He felt blessed and thankful.

“Thank you.” Sam gasped.

A hand softly caressed his hair and Sam thought he had never felt such warmth and comfort in his life in a single touch. He kept his eyes down, his mind suddenly freed of all the fears and worries he had fretted over just a short while ago. _The angel is blessing me_ , Sam thought, his heart filling with his love for God.

“What have I done to deserve such a blessing?” Sam whispered. “I am just a poor servant, a mere flicker in comparison to the glory of the Lord.”

“Sam.” The voice was warm and kind, and Sam felt compelled to look upon the angel. He was awed by the being’s beauty. “Why do you think so little of yourself? You have been chosen. You were called to this life, and you have done well.”

“I am grateful for what I have been given.” Sam murmured. He looked away, feeling unworthy to gaze upon such beauty.

“Why do you look away?” The angel asked.

“I am not worthy.” Sam replied, head down.

The angel put a hand under Sam’s chin, tipping it up so Sam had to look up. Sam gasped at the feel of the angel’s skin upon his. It was searing, as if the angel’s light held a fiery heat. The angel smiled knowingly as the priest admired him. Sam couldn’t help but return the smile. He never thought an angel could seem so human.

“You are one of the worthiest, Sam Winchester.” The angel spoke. He reached a hand out and Sam took it with an awed expression. When he raised Sam up, and Sam was startled to find that he stood several inches taller than the angel. He noticed that the light that had emanated from the angel was growing dimmer still, to the point where he almost appeared human.

“Why have you come?” Sam breathed. The angel still held his hand; his skin had cooled as his light within him faded.

“I was the one who answered your selfless prayer.” The angel said softly.

Sam was mesmerized by the angel’s eyes, which he saw were a gentle green now that the blue light that had blazed forth from them had dissipated completely.  “Were you watching me?” He whispered.

“Yes.” The angel answered. “And I come to offer you more.”

“You have already given so much.” Sam made a semblance of protest, but truthfully the church and the monastery needed all the help they could get.

“You deserve it all, Sammy.” The angel replied.

Sam startled at the nickname. No one had called him Sammy for almost two decades. Before he could think too hard about it, the angel let go of his hand and had stepped even closer. Sam was struck by the angel’s beauty once more.

The angel lifted his hand and caressed Sam’s cheek. Sam sighed at the touch. It had been so long since he had been given any truly affectionate touches. It wasn’t really something he had opportunity for as a man of the cloth. When the angel moved his hand away, Sam felt bereft.

“I have seen. I have seen how lonely you are.” The angel whispered.

Sam could barely breathe as the angel leaned forward. There was the softest brush of lips upon his, as gentle as a breath. The angel pulled away and Sam let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He was stunned.

“You don’t have to be lonely anymore.” The angel smiled.

Before Sam could speak, the angel put his lips on Sam’s again, and this time, the kiss was firmer. Sam’s exclamation of surprise was muffled under the angel’s mouth. The angel grasped Sam’s arms and guided him backward until Sam’s back hit the altar, and then covered Sam’s body with his own. Sam was shocked and confused. Even as his body started to respond, Sam wondered why the angel would kiss him in this manner. Sam tried to speak and the angel pressed his tongue into Sam’s mouth. Sam jerked in the angel’s grasp. Something was very wrong. He tried to twist away, and the angel broke the kiss, but kept a firm grip on Sam’s arms.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” The angel asked, his eyes wide and innocent.

“What are you?” Sam gasped. He struggled against the angel’s hold.

The angel’s expression darkened, and his hands tightened on Sam’s arms. Sam’s blood ran cold as he watched the angel’s eyes change; black liquid diffused into the space where white sclera and green irises had once been. The false angel grinned garishly and Sam knew he was in the presence of true evil. He wanted to struggle, to scream, but it was as if he had been rendered silent and still by a spell.

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy.” The creature drawled.

“What are you?” Sam repeated, needing confirmation even as dread filled his heart; Sam fingered the crucifix that hung from his neck, shutting his eyes and praying.  Harsh laughter echoed in his ears and Sam prayed harder.

“You already know.” The creature taunted and leaned his face in close.

Sam cringed and shut his eyes again, but he only felt hot breath puffing over his skin. Then he caught a whiff of sulfur. _Fire and brimstone_ , he shuddered.

_Demon_ , his mind finally named the fear.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam gripped the crucifix tighter and began to pray under his breath. The demon laughed and Sam spoke louder. “…deliver us from evil. For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory…”

“Words can’t save you now, Sammy.” The demon taunted. Sam cowered.

“ _P-pater noster, qui es in caelo_ …” Sam stuttered, as if the same prayer in Latin would be more effective.

The demon chuckled and released Sam’s arms. The priest collapsed with his back against the altar, and then flinched in fear as the demon reached out for him. He grabbed a handful of Sam’s cassock at his chest, pulling him up and forward using the cloth. Sam yelped as he was forced against the burning hot body.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” The demon mocked him harshly.

Before Sam could answer, hot lips were mashed against his own. Where the angel had been gentle, the demon was violent. He forced his tongue inside Sam’s mouth, muffling the priest’s cries. Sam’s protests were smothered by the demon’s forceful kiss and he found to his shame that he was growing hard. Sam tried struggling but the demon’s grip was like a vise on his body. Tears filled his eyes. Sam felt sharp teeth clash against his own and suddenly the demon bit down on his lip. Sam cried out at the pain, and tasted blood. He felt the demon’s hot tongue running over the bite and then without warning, the demon released him.

Sam stumbled forward, his knees slamming against the stones, putting his hands out only just in time to prevent himself from hitting his face on the floor. He was weeping openly now, his tears slipping down his cheeks. Blood dribbled from one side of his mouth. He kept his head down, afraid to look. He gripped his crucifix so hard that it must be embedded in his palm.

“My priest.” The demon drawled. “I have watched you for long. Watched you grow and become the man you are now. Watch you deny yourself the pleasures of the flesh, even when your body yearned for it so.”

Sam kept his head down, still weeping, his sobs echoing in the empty church.

“Even now, you protest and cry but your body betrays you.” The demon continued. He reached down to grasp Sam’s chin hard.

Sam tried to jerk away but the demon held fast. He tipped Sam’s face up so he was forced to look at him. Sam’s eyes widened with fear as he saw the bloody smile and the black eyes. The demon pulled him up roughly and then slammed him back against the altar.

“This is what you’ve been dreaming of, my priest.” The demon pressed himself against Sam, the hot length of his body searing against Sam. Sam felt the roll of the demon’s hips and groaned as he felt the demon’s hardness against his own. The demon smiled wickedly.

“Every sound of your pleasure is like a prayer to me. I want more. Pray for me, my priest.” The demon released Sam’s robes and reached around and cupped Sam’s ass. Sam couldn’t stop the moan that escaped his lips.

“Yes.” The demon praised. He squeezed Sam hard and Sam yelped. The demon laughed and turned Sam around and forced him down against the marble altar. Sam felt the cool surface against his cheek and sobbed.

“No.” Sam protested weakly.

“Yes.” The demon repeated, as he pressed against Sam’s back. Sam felt the demon’s rigid cock insistent on Sam’s ass through the thin layer of his robes. “Let me claim you, my priest.”

Sam prayed under his breath, trying to summon up the strength to resist. He threw all his weight backward in a sudden motion. The demon was caught off guard and lost his balance, falling back onto the stone floor. Sam whirled around and tried to run, but the demon grabbed his leg easily and tripped him. Sam sobbed as the demon snarled and hauled him up by his hair. Sam was dragged back to the altar and thrown against the hard stone table. The demon pressed his body down on Sam, forcing him to bend at the waist. His cheek was once again mashed against the cool marble. This time the demon gripped Sam’s neck, squeezing when he felt the flinch of Sam’s muscles.

“Now will you behave, my priest?” The demon growled.

Sam coughed and the demon eased his body off of Sam’s back. The hand on his neck relented and moved down to his back, pressing lightly as a warning. Sam knew what would happen now; the creature was too strong for him to fight off. He heard the sound of the demon’s belt being undone and his body tensed. In the empty church, the clink of the buckle and the rustle of cloth seemed overly loud. And then Sam felt the hem of his cassock being lifted, the buttons ripping apart at the bottom and pinging against the floor.

“I always wondered what you wore underneath your dress.” The demon observed. “I thought you’d be wearing…more.” Sam could hear the smile in the voice.

Sam felt shame burning his cheeks as he felt the cool air against his legs. With the warmer weather, he had taken to wearing as little as possible under his vestments. The demon yanked the briefs down until they tangled about his ankles. Sam felt the caress of hot hands on his ass and jerked against the altar. The sudden movement pressed him against the gathers of his lifted cassock and he felt the outline of a hard object in his pocket against his stomach. His hand was pinned underneath his body, but the demon was no longer holding him down. Sam surreptitiously inched his hand into his pocket and closed it around the small glass vial. He had to escape. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let this demon ruin him. He started working the cap with his fingers.

Sam startled again when he felt a finger press lightly against his entrance. The cap was almost loose.

“You want this.” The demon rasped. It was a statement, not a question. Sam couldn’t help the whine that escaped his lips. Even as he got the vial open, his body couldn’t help responding; he was so hard. The finger probed deeper and Sam moaned openly, unable to keep his voice in check.

“Yes, yes. Pray for me, my priest.” The demon urged. “The louder the prayer, the more pleasure we both feel.”

“Please…” Sam panted. He had the vial ready in his hand now, his thumb covering the open top to keep the precious liquid inside from spilling.

The demon slid his slick finger inside and Sam gasped, writhing against the hot body behind him. Sam briefly wondered where the demon had found lubricant, but his thoughts were clouded as another finger entered him. He couldn’t help rocking back against them.

“So tight.” The demon groaned.

The broken note in the demon’s voice brought Sam back to his senses. He had to do it now, while the demon was distracted and no longer on guard. Sam spun his body around without warning and threw the holy water in the demon’s face, even as he winced at the feeling of the demon’s fingers slipping from his body.

The demon howled as if the water burned his skin. He put his hands up to his face and cried out in agony. Sam made the sign of the cross and began to run, almost tripping over his briefs. He pulled them up hastily and kept going, his torn cassock flapping open about his bare legs. He had only made it halfway down the aisle when the the demon appeared in front of him. Sam couldn’t stop his momentum and crashed bodily into the demon, who grabbed him before he could fall. The demon’s face had been burned and mutilated, the skin angry red and blistering where the holy water had touched it, but as Sam watched in shock, the wounds healed themselves. The demon laughed.

“You think a bit of water that has been spoken over will stop me?” The demon scoffed. He threw Sam to the ground, and the priest cried out in pain as his side hit the stones.

“I’ll ask you once more. Now will you obey?” The demon prodded.

Sam set his mouth in a line, refusing to answer.

“I didn’t want to do this.” The demon snarled. “But you leave me no choice.”

The demon snapped his fingers and Sam was lifted into the air by an invisible force, and then flung all the way to the front of the church, his head smacking against the altar.

Sam’s world went black.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam opened his eyes. For a brief moment he thought it had all been a nightmare, but then he felt the cold stone floor under him. He ached all over, and his head was throbbing. He had thought the demon was going to kill him. He touched the back of his head and it came away wet with blood. He probed the wound gingerly and was relieved to find that it seemed superficial, although there was a big lump where his head had impacted the altar. 

“Aw. Look who’s awake.” The demon murmured softly.

Sam startled. He looked up and saw the demon sitting in the second pew, his legs stretched out and his feet on the back of the first pew. Fear stabbed his heart as the demon smiled at him.

“Are you ready to listen?” The demon drawled.

Sam didn’t respond. The demon slid his feet off the pew and stood up. He strode up to Sam and stood over him. Sam couldn’t help cringing as the black eyes regarded him. The demon hauled him up by his ruined cassock, and bent him over the altar once more. Sam whimpered in submission.

“So...where were we?” The demon mused. Sam felt his robes being lifted again.

This time the demon didn’t wait. He ripped Sam’s briefs off violently and immediately breached him with three fingers. The priest cried out with pain. But as the demon continued to move his hand, Sam grew used to the sensation. When the demon curled his fingers, pleasure pulsed through Sam. Sam moaned wantonly, not caring anymore even as his moans echoed obscenely in the empty church. A fourth finger entered Sam and he sobbed, and started pushing back. He was sinning, blaspheming, his vestments ruined, his body against the altar, a demon against his back, violating him. And he enjoyed it. He belonged in hell.

“Isn’t this better, my priest?” The demon pressed his body against Sam’s back and whispered hotly in his ear. The fingers disappeared but before Sam could protest, he felt the demon’s hot cock pressing insistently against his opening. “I’m going to use you, my priest.” The demon gasped. “I will claim you and make you mine. Your God cannot save you now.”

The demon thrust inside and Sam hissed with pain; the demon’s cock thicker and longer than the fingers. As the demon began to move, the sensation of being full nearly overwhelmed him. His cock ached to be touched, and as if reading Sam’s thoughts, a hot hand snaked down between his legs, lifting the front of his robe and grasping him tight. Sam sobbed as he felt the hand slide up and down his shaft, wringing so much pleasure from him in every moment of sin. Sam knew he wouldn’t last long. His eyes looked up and he saw the blank eyes of Jesus on the cross watching him with accusation and disapproval. He shut his eyes again.

The demon panted and cursed as he continued to slam into Sam, the movements jerky and rough. Sam moaned and was gratified to hear the demon echo his moan. Suddenly Sam felt the hand that had been holding him down grab his hair and tug roughly. Sam was bent back against the demon, and he felt the hot breath against his neck. The demon tugged Sam’s collar hard and then Sam felt teeth bite down hard on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Sam screamed in pain even as the demon stroked him to orgasm. He came hard against the side of the altar, and felt the demon pump into him even faster, and then the teeth released his neck and the demon howled his climax. Sam wept, feeling the hot seed filling him inside, even as the wound at his neck bled. The smell of blood and cum and brimstone reached his nostrils and he felt repelled. Sam cried out and tried to push the demon away, throwing all his weight back against the demon. But the demon only wrapped his arms tight against Sam and then suckled at his neck while Sam could only continue weeping.

Sam felt his legs buckle, but the demon held him upright. And then Sam was spun around and kissed violently, his back pressed against the altar. Sam tasted his own blood and felt nauseous. And then the demon released him, letting him fall to his knees once more. Tears of shame streamed down Sam’s face as he tugged his cassock back down over his legs. Now that the deed was done, Sam burned with the humiliation of the demon’s debasement of his body. Even if he hadn’t been able to fight the demon off, he hated himself for taking pleasure from the monstrous act. Sam gripped his crucifix tight once more and held it in front of him. He was consumed by revulsion and despair. His body was covered with the stickiness of his sin, his cassock disheveled and his collar torn and askew. The metallic tang of blood still lingered in his mouth.

He felt the weight of Christ’s stare upon him and looked up at the cross. Could he still be saved? All that he knew and preached told him that it was so, but Sam wavered in his belief. Yet the prayer came to him automatically as he focused on the effigy. “ _Anima Christi, sanctifica me. Corpus Christi, salve-“_

The demon laughed harshly. “Still you don’t understand?”

Sam stuttered and then continued obstinately, “ _Sanguis Christi, inebria me. Aqua lateris Christi, lava me. Passio Christi, conforta me. O bone Iesu, exaudi me…_ ”

The demon stepped into Sam’s line of vision and Sam faltered slightly but was determined to finish, he squeezed his eyes tight and increased his volume. “ _Intra tua vulnera absconde me. Ne permittas me separari a te. Ab hoste maligno defende me. In hora mortis meae voca me. Et iube me venire ad te, ut cum Sanctis tuis laudem te in saecula saeculorum. Amen.”_

The sound of clapping startled him, and he opened his eyes to see the demon smiling at him. “Do you feel better now, my priest? Such pretty words. Too bad no one will ever hear them except for me.”

“Please…” Sam begged, his voice breaking. “Leave me alone..”

The demon stepped around the altar and knelt beside Sam. Sam shut his eyes and cowered in anticipation of the demon’s touch. When the demon laid his hot hand on Sam’s cheek, the touch was gentle, almost a caress. Sam eyes fluttered open.

“Sammy, don’t you recognize me?” The demon asked, the plaintive note incongruous with how he had spoken before.

The demon made a sudden movement and Sam flinched. He saw the flash of the smile, the way the unnatural eyes watched him. He felt the searing hot touch again, this time reaching under his collar. He whimpered as the hand grazed his throat and then wandered lower to tug at the worn leather cord that was hidden underneath his vestments. The amulet slipped out and the demon laughed with delight.

“I’m so touched that you still wear it, Sammy.” The figure let go of Sam, to his relief, but fear rose in his throat like bile at the next words. “I remember all too well the day that I gave it to you.”

“D-Dean?” Sam gasped. A memory of green eyes and freckles, and a reassuring smile, the amulet pressed into Sam’s hand; and then later, blood, tears, and death. “No…”

“Yes. Yes, Sammy.” Dean grinned. And Sam knew it had to be. The face was older, more angular, but it was him.

It was Dean. His brother.  
  
His brother that had been dead for seventeen long years.


	5. Chapter 5

_Seventeen years earlier…_

Sam knew it wasn’t quite right. When John asked him to sit on his lap, Sam knew he was too old to be doing so. But his father always seemed so happy when Sam obeyed. John pet Sam’s hair and offered him candy. All Sam had to do was sit on his lap and let John bounce him up and down. Sometimes Sam was only in his underwear. And there was always the trip to the toy store afterwards. Sam wasn’t really sure what was happening, but it made his father happy, so Sam didn’t really mind.

It always happened when Dean wasn’t home, which was almost every day now since Sam had stopped going to school. John had decided that Sam should be homeschooled after an incident where he had been beaten up. Sam remembered how he had hid in the room he shared with his brother as Dean and John argued. Dean insisted he would be able to care for Sam and watch out for him, to which John countered that Dean had already managed to allow Sam to get hurt. Dean accused John of being overprotective and unreasonable. The yelling had escalated and Sam cowered under his blanket, trying to block out the sounds. He only emerged when Dean stomped into the room and slammed the door.

“Dean!” Sam gasped when he saw that the left side of Dean’s face was swelling. John had hit him hard.

“It’s ok, Sammy.” Dean muttered, wincing when he spoke. “Dad’s an asshole.”

“How could he hit you?” Sam’s mouth quivered, he was trying hard not to cry. He still thought of John as his hero. He was sure Dean had done or said something really bad.

“It’s fine, Sammy.” Dean said dismissively.

Dean had refused to say anything else, and Sam had quietly gone into the kitchen to fetch some ice for Dean. Dean had a black eye the next day, and his cheek was purple.

…

Sam was eager for Dean to get home from school each afternoon. His brother would take him to the town center, where they would usually get a snack and then Dean would drop Sam off at the library. John hadn’t really made any attempts to actually teach Sam, despite his insistence that Sam stay at home. John would sleep away the afternoon since he worked the graveyard shift at the factory. So Sam taught himself, learning from books. He read a lot of fiction too, the only way he could distract himself from loneliness and isolation. If he saw any of the kids he used to know at school they ignored him.

Sam had his own routine despite not being in school. He woke up when Dean woke up, and made breakfast for himself and his brother, saving the leftovers for John when he got home a little later. He started reading while Dean got ready, and stopped when John got home from work. After John ate and relaxed a little, usually with a drink or two, he might ask Sam to sit on his lap. Then John would go to bed, and when he woke in the evening, he would have the leftovers from Dean and Sam’s dinner and then head to work. Dean and John rarely saw each other; in fact Dean made it a point to stay out of their father’s way.

The day it all fell apart, Dean came home from school early.

Dean had walked in on John bouncing Sam on his lap. John had pushed Sam off immediately, but Dean had already seen what was going on. Dean swore at John, said things that Sam couldn’t quite understand. He knew that Dean was extremely angry though and now Sam had confirmation that what he and John had been doing was wrong. John told Sam to go to his room. Once Sam had shut his door there was even more yelling, and he heard the thump of furniture and then Dean’s cry. He was so afraid of what John might have done to Dean. He was too afraid to go out though, even when he heard Dean yelp again.

He heard the front door slam, but still he didn’t emerge from under the covers. He hid in his room for what seemed like hours. He must have fallen asleep eventually. He woke when Dean came into the room. His brother’s arm was in a sling.

“Dean, what happened?” Sam cried.

“Fucker broke my arm.” Dean growled. “Then he dropped me off at the ER. It’s late. He’s at work now.”

“Oh my God, Dean. This is all my fault!” Sam sobbed.

“No.” Dean said fiercely. He sat on Sam’s bed and grasped his brother’s hand, squeezing tight.

“It’s Dad’s fault. Never think it’s your fault. It was never your fault.”

Dean’s eyes blazed with anger, and Sam shrank back a little. Dean saw the fear in Sam’s eyes and his expression gentled. “It’s not your fault, Sammy.” Dean repeated. His eyes grew distant and he let go of Sam’s hand. “I’m gonna take care of this, Sammy. I’m gonna make sure Dad never hurts you again.”

“But, he wasn’t-“ Sam started to say.

“No excuses. You’re too young to understand, but I’m old enough for both of us.” Dean cut him off.

“Dean?” Sam asked, worried about what Dean meant by his words. “What are you going to do?”

Dean’s expression grew dark again. “Keep you safe, Sammy. Go to sleep.”

Sam tried to smile, but suddenly he felt on the verge of tears. His lip quivered with the effort of holding them back.

“Sammy, it’ll be ok.” Dean used his good arm to hold Sam close to him. He pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “It’ll be ok.” He rocked his brother against him, letting Sam snuffle into his shirt. He said nothing about the tears, knowing that Sam was already embarrassed to be crying in front of him.

Eventually Sam fell asleep, and Dean tucked him in tenderly.

John Winchester had hell to pay.

…

When Sam had woken after the night that John had broken Dean’s arm, he found Dean’s amulet in his hand. Dean never took that thing off, Sam felt dread in his heart. He didn’t know what would happen, but he had a sense that something terrible would happen soon.

 


	6. Chapter 6

“Dean-I. How?” Sam opened and closed his mouth. He was shocked. His knees buckled as the memories washed over him, images of the sinful past that he had tried so hard to erase with his piety and service.

“I always wondered what you thought happened to me.” Dean rasped. He stood now, and paced away from Sam. Sam relaxed slightly, but turned to watch his brother. Sam waited for Dean to continue.

“I felt so much guilt at first. I knew you would probably be the one to find Dad.” Dean’s voice was full of sorrow and remorse.  

Sam trembled at Dean’s words; his brother had as much as admitted that he had been responsible for their father’s death. Was that the sin that had damned him forever and turned him into a demon?

Dean saw the fear and anguish on Sam’s face. He barked a bitter laugh. “You can relax, Sammy. It wasn’t me that wielded the knife.”

The relief showed on Sam’s face, but he remained silent. Dean continued in a wistful voice. “But you gotta understand, I never meant to leave you alone. _He_ never told me that was the part of the price.” Dean spoke quietly, his voice rough.  “When he came to collect, I told him it was much too early.”

“Who?” Sam whispered, confused as to who Dean was speaking of.

“Crowley.” Dean replied. “Crowley, the King of Hell.” He sounded resigned.

“The King of H-hell?” Sam gasped. He made the sign of the cross and Dean smirked.

“I made a deal with the devil, and he screwed me over.” Dean laughed bitterly. “In exchange for my soul, he would get rid of Dad. I was supposed to have ten years…”

“Dean…” Sam said, despair filling his heart.

“He gave me three weeks.” Dean recalled darkly. He saw the anguished look on Sam’s face and laughed. “It’s not as bad as you think. Certainly more entertaining than the life you’ve chosen. When Crowley saw how much of a fight I put up when he sent his underlings to deal with me, he offered me a job.” Dean’s eyes flashed black. “Of course I took it.”

“Dean…” Sam repeated, at a loss for words. He was shocked that his brother had _chosen_ to become a demon.

“I never thought you would join the church though.” Dean noted with amusement. “It’s ironic isn’t it?”  

Dean walked closer to Sam again, who cringed as the demon neared him. Dean merely ruffled his hair and walked away again.

“All those years, and I was always watching. I made sure you were always safe. I heard every single prayer, every supplication and vow of piety.” Dean leered at Sam who blushed and looked down. “ It was so easy to fulfill your simple requests. Now the problems are bigger, and solving them comes at a cost. But don’t worry, Sammy. I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” Sam protested, but he could barely manage to feel any indignity. He was exhausted and used, his faith and vows broken. He was too dirty to even be inside the church. He would have to leave; it was the only life he knew though and the thought of starting anew filled him with fear. But he couldn’t stay; his sin would poison the church. Dean’s presence would defile everything. And he had a feeling Dean wouldn’t let him go.

“You don’t need my help?” Dean snorted. “Your church would be dead within the year without my help.”

“We’ll figure out another way…” Sam spoke with a bluster he didn’t feel.

Dean laughed. “No one believes anymore. Church is a joke- a place for dust and old men. Even its priests treat their vows lightly.” Here he looked at Sam pointedly.

“Leave.” Sam said quietly.

“You have no power.” Dean taunted. “Your prayers only go to me, my priest.”

“Leave.” Sam repeated, his voice louder. Dean laughed again. Sam pulled himself up heavily using the altar to brace himself. He stood unsteadily.

“Make me.” Dean challenged.

At those words, Sam knew what he must do. He took a deep breath and stepped toward Dean, nearly stumbling. He looked to the carved Jesus for strength and then he brandished his crucifix and spoke loudly and strongly into the empty church.

“ _Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei”_ Here he made the sign of the cross before continuing, trying to ignore Dean’s cry of pain.

_“Patris omnipotentis, et in noimine Jesu,”_ Sam made the sign of the cross yet again, out of the corner he saw Dean sink to his knees.

_“Christi Filii ejus, Domini et Judicis nostri, et in virtute Spiritus,”_ Once more, Sam made the sign of the cross. Dean was twitching where he lay on the floor. A wind started blowing inside the church, whipping Sam’s hair around his face.

_“Sancti, ut descedas ab hoc plasmate Dei Dean Winchester, quod Dominus noster ad templum sanctum suum vocare dignatus est, ut fiat templum Dei vivi, et Spiritus Sanctus habitet in eo.”_ The wind grew in strength and Sam had to close his eyes.

_“Per eumdem Christum Dominum nostrum, qui venturus est judicare vivos et mortuos, et saeculum per ignem.”_ Sam was shouting as he spoke these last few words, the sound of the wind howling in his ears.

When he finished, he collapsed against the altar, letting himself slide down until he sat on the floor. He was sweating and out of breath. He was almost afraid to look over to where Dean had been writhing.  
  
His brother was gone.

… 

Sam was relieved and elated over the next few days. His prayers were more fervent and he fasted to show his devotion. His increased piety did not go unnoticed by the brothers and his congregation. There was an uptick in attendance at church, word of Father Winchester’s enthusiastic sermons had spread. But at night, his fears that Dean would return plagued him. When he doused the candles each evening, he kept waiting for Dean to appear.

But Dean stayed away. Sam remained uneasy as the days since his encounter with the demon turned into weeks. He felt like he could never quite relax, knowing that Dean could be watching him. It was only in the darkest watches of the night when he was alone and haunted by the memory of Dean’s touch, that he could admit that he missed the demon. He even yearned for the depraved and sinful dreams. He refrained from touching himself, although he struggled to fall asleep every night. Without the distractions of his duties, he could not ignore the need that pulsed beneath his cassock. The sheets brushed torturously against his aching cock; half asleep, he rutted against them until he orgasmed, shame overtaking him when he woke in the morning.

And still Dean stayed away.


	7. Chapter 7

The financial state of St. Ignatius was growing desperate again. They had used the donations more quickly than anticipated. The costs of the care of the elder members of the brotherhood – their medications, special dietary needs and health visits– were adding up. There hadn’t been a new member of the friary since Sam. Benny was the next youngest member, but he was already in his forties. There were a handful of other brothers that were closer in age to Benny but they were far outnumbered, eliminating any possibility of the younger monks attending their elders without the help of home health and medical assistants. The costs were staggering on a yearly basis, especially with the knowledge that they would only increase.

Father Michael was clamoring for the brotherhood to consider Mr. Bentley’s offer again. Sam resisted, but it would come to a vote, and Michael would have the final say. Sam prayed for another answer. He wasn’t ready to lose the only home he had ever really known. He wasn’t ready for the monks to be split up, for the church to become something different, either torn down or turned into some sort of hotel. Sam was almost desperate enough to summon Dean himself. He braced himself each night for a visit from the demon, but there was no sign. No whispers, no shadows, no dreams.

And then came the announcement that Father Michael was ready to take the offer. Sam was frantic. He spent the day in seclusion, handing off his duties to other monks. When he finally emerged at night, he headed down to the main church. He felt peaceful, the time in seclusion had helped him clear his thoughts. He was certain that he could convince Father Michael to change his mind. He had come up with another idea to raise money for the monastery. If the developer wanted to turn the land and grounds into a housing complex, then the monks should take that idea and turn it into their own. There were plenty of extra rooms, especially since membership was no longer growing. Why not turn those into lodging for the interested public?

Sam was felt lighter than he had in months as he doused the candles. He didn’t need to ask Dean for help. He would save the church himself.

…

Sam was still in a bright mood when he came down to breakfast that morning. But the mood of the brothers in the dining hall was somber and grim. Sam looked at Brother Benny questioningly. Benny shook his head and slid a newspaper over to Sam. Sam’s smile fell and turned into open mouthed shock as he read the headline: Land Developer Found Dead in Hotel Room.

Sam scanned the article; it was indeed the same developer that had been looking to buy the monastery. Alistair Bentley had been staying in town and talking with Father Michael over the last couple of days. Today he had been planning to bring over the papers. Clearly that wouldn’t be happening anymore. The article noted that there were no obvious signs of foul play – the room was locked from the inside, and it didn’t appear that the victim had struggled; in fact the victim had been lying in his bed. Still, it was improbable that the wound had been self inflicted. It was a clean, angled stab through the base of the skull that would have resulted in a near instantaneous death.

Sam paled and dropped the paper with numb fingers, rushing out of the room. He made it just in time to the bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He heaved a few more times but there was nothing left. He knew who was responsible.

The image of his dead father’s body forced itself up out of the darkest corner of his mind. Sam sobbed as he recalled how he had thought John had merely been sleeping- until he noticed the bloom of red behind his father’s head. He had screamed and ran out of the house, continuing to scream, until the neighbor woke and found him. The police were called, and Sam could remember the sight of his father’s body being carried out on a stretcher, covered with a white sheet, loaded into the ambulance. Sam remembered wondering why they would use an ambulance when his father was so obviously dead. But nobody would answer Sam’s questions. When it was discovered that there were no living relatives to be notified, except for a delinquent brother who was currently missing, Sam stayed with the neighbor who had found him. Mrs. O’Malley had fussed over Sam and treated him kindly, but as an elderly widow she didn’t have the means or the qualifications to foster him. Sam couldn’t quite recall the details of how he had ended up at the monastery, but Mrs. O’Malley had been a devout Catholic. She must have been the one that called Father Henry.

Sam struggled to stand up from where he knelt before the toilet. He felt the black of despair descending upon him. He knew that Dean would be coming soon.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean didn’t come that night, even though Sam kept vigil in the church all night. He must have dozed at some point, because when he woke, his body ached from lying on the hard stone and the sun was pressing through the panes of stained glass, casting jeweled patches of light on the floor. He hurried back to his quarters so he could clean up and get ready for services. It was a Tuesday, which was his usual day to give confession.

…

The walls of the booth seemed to close in on him as he waited. He checked his watch, and noted there were only about twenty more minutes before confession hours were closed. He shifted in the small space. He was distraught, certain that Dean would visit him tonight. Part of him wondered if maybe there was a chance that Dean hadn’t been the one who had dealt with Alistair. But Sam knew it in his heart there could be no one else. It was the same way his father had died. In fact, it was the same way Dean had died.

No one heard from Dean after John’s death. The police had expected his brother to turn up at some point after the news. They hadn’t ruled Dean out as a suspect, knowing what had happened between the father and son a few nights before. When Dean was still missing a couple of weeks after John’s death, they assumed he was on the run. There was no hard evidence tying Dean to John’s death though, and so they only issued a missing persons report.

And then came the day when Dean was found, dead in an alley. He had been killed the same way as John, but with one major difference: Dean had struggled. His body was bloodied with what looked like claw and tooth marks. They were too big to have been made by any animal that lived in the nearby area. In the coroner’s report, they were described as wolf-like, but larger in size than any known species. It didn’t explain the stab wound at the base of the skull in any case. At this point there had been no progress on the investigation on John’s death either. No weapon had been located, and the police had made no headway by questioning John’s neighbors and acquaintances.

When Dean was found, the two deaths were immediately linked. But again, no murder weapon was found. The story made the front page of the papers. Despite the best efforts of Father Henry to shield Sam from the details, inevitably Sam found out. He was plagued by nightmares. He had already been devastated from losing both his father and brother, but now he was even more broken. He became afraid, knowing that whoever had murdered his family was still out there, and might be waiting for him. He was afraid to be alone, and although it was unorthodox, Father Henry was kind enough to let Sam sleep in his quarters. There was talk about the arrangement among the brothers, but Father Henry ignored it. Sam was grateful, and there was nothing improper between Henry and him. The abbot was kind, if not particularly demonstrative in his affections toward Sam.

The other brothers stayed away from Sam as if he was cursed, and that only added to Sam’s distress. Father Henry scolded the brothers for not showing Sam the charity and welcome he deserved. He encouraged them to participate actively in Sam’s religious education. With time, the monks grew accustomed to Sam’s presence and accepted him as part of the family. Sam was easy to like – an earnest child who was sincere about learning and enjoyed books. He was respectful and courteous, and there were no complaints about his behavior.

Time passed, and Sam adapted. His nightmares lessened, and then faded completely. But the killer was never found, and it made Sam uneasy to leave the monastery walls. It was an easy decision for him to become a novitiate when Henry broached the subject with him. The abbot actually encouraged Sam to spend time outside the monastery, even going as far as to offer funds for Sam to travel abroad. Sam declined, saying this was all the home he needed, with God and the brothers. So Sam stayed and learned and trained.

Eight years later, two years since Henry had passed, he was ordained a priest. Sam was only haunted by his past in dreams, but otherwise he was at peace. Until the monastery started declining financially.

Sam’s thoughts inevitably drifted to the demon. The demon who was also his brother, and who was also his lover. It was so perverse and so sinful that Sam wasn’t even sure how to begin to ask for forgiveness. He had been foolish enough to believe that perhaps Dean was gone. The murder of Alistair proved that Sam was terribly wrong. Sam felt forsaken; there was no one listening to his paltry prayers except for Dean. It had always been Dean. Now that Sam thought about it, there had been little things that he always thought were the work of God but that Dean must have had a hand in. Sam recalled one of the older monks that had attempted to molest Sam when he first arrived at the monastery. Sam had managed to resist him, and the next morning, the friar had been found dead of “natural causes”. There was also the parishioner that took an interest in Sam that was clearly not only related to her faith. The Sunday after she had confessed feelings for Sam (in this very booth, no less), she wasn’t at services. When Sam inquired he had been told that Ms. Moore had moved away. Sam had been puzzled – Jessica hadn’t mentioned any plans for moving, and Sam was certain she would have told him. Secretly, he had been relieved that he wouldn’t have to fend off her affections.

Before Dean had forced himself into his life, Sam had been happy, peaceful, content with his quiet existence. Now he was troubled and tortured, his body in a constant state of arousal that he couldn’t ignore at night. Sam wondered if Dean had cursed him. He had never been so hungry for the pleasures of the flesh. On more than one occasion he had replayed his encounter with Dean in his mind, often when he thrust against his bed, remembering how complete he had felt with the demon’s cock buried inside him.

He was jolted out of his reverie by the sound of the curtain being slid aside on the confessor side of the booth. Sam straightened himself and waited for the parishioner to settle.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.” Her voice was querulous as she began. “It has been a month since my last confession.”

Sam cleared his throat. She sounded young to him, and he tried to place the voice. “What do you wish to confess?”

“I wish to confess my sins.” The girl responded. “I have been.. I…”

“Please continue, there is no one listening but God.” Sam prompted.

_Oh Sammy, really?_ The voice rasped in Sam’s ear and he nearly jumped with surprise. There was no one in the booth with him.

“I have been having sex. With multiple partners.” The girl blurted.

_Ooh, I like her._ Dean’s voice continued in a low growl. _Maybe she’d add me to her list?_ Sam twisted around in the cramped space, even though there was no one in there with him.

“Are you married?” Sam asked, the walls of the booth seeming to close in on him. He strained to hear the voice. Was it only in his head?

“No, Father. I am in high school.” The confessor answered.

“Oh.” Sam responded, only half listening. “That’s good.”

“Father?” She replied, sounding confused.

_That’s good? Oh Sammy. Do you get off on hearing these confessions?_ Dean’s hot whisper was loud in his ear.

“Leave me alone!” Sam growled, keeping his voice as low as possible.

“Father?” The girl sounded worried. Apparently Sam hadn’t been quiet enough.

“I meant, uh, that it is good that you haven’t broken any marriage vows. Your sin is still grave though.” Sam was flustered.

“I don’t know if I have the strength to stop.” The girl continued. “I know it is wrong but it feels so good.”

_You would know about that, wouldn’t you, Sammy?_ Dean taunted. Sam put his head in his hands.

“You must be strong.” Sam said, his voice strained.

“I need to tell someone. I didn’t know who, so I came here. I can’t tell my parents, and if I told my friends…well, I would be labeled as a slut. No one at school knows. I meet up with strangers that I talk to online.” The girl’s words came out in a rush.

“I’m here, Sam.” Dean manifested in the small space and Sam had to stifle a gasp. Dean grinned wickedly and then wedged himself between Sam’s legs. Sam swallowed hard.

“Father?” The girl questioned when Sam didn’t answer. “I’m sorry if I have offended. I just thought this was a safe place…”

“N-no, my child. It is a safe place. Please continue.” Sam stuttered as Dean’s hands started unbuttoning the bottom half of his cassock. Sam bit back a moan as Dean pulled his already hard cock out of his boxers. The demon nuzzled him and pressed a kiss to his thigh.

“This is a safe place.” Dean snickered quietly before biting down on Sam’s thigh, hard enough to draw blood. Sam yelped.

“Are you ok, Father?” The girl asked, sounding alarmed.

Sam struggled to answer as Dean sucked at the wound. “I-I am. Please go on.” Sam grunted when Dean suddenly took his cock in his mouth and had to bite back a moan when the hot wet heat engulfed him. He thrust up involuntarily.

“I have been meeting with men that are older than me. Some of them buy me presents.” The girl continued. “They are kind to me and gentle.”

Sam was breathing heavily and concentrating on trying not to make any noise as Dean bobbed his head up and down. The wound in his thigh throbbed, but he hardly noticed it.

“I-ah! It isn’t safe. And these men can be considered criminals if you are under the age of consent.” Sam gasped. Dean was already edging him, teasing him with his tongue against his slit, taking Sam deep whenever he thrust up.

“I know, Father. And don’t worry, I am of age.” The girl sounded almost proud.

“I must ask you to stop.” Sam gritted, and the words were directed as much to Dean as to the confessor.

“Are you ok, Father?” She asked after a pause.

“Y-yes.” Sam was sweating, his knees shaking with the effort of holding back his orgasm. Dean was stroking his thighs. Sam took a shuddering breath before continuing. “You must try to refrain from pursuing these-ah! these relations. And come back to confession next week to report on your progress. Meanwhile, please pray the entirety of the rosary.”

“I will, Father.” She agreed.

“I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, the Son and the – oh! - Holy Spirit.” Sam sputtered hurriedly. He just managed to blurt the blessing out before clamping his mouth down hard on his arm to muffle his scream as he came harder than he had ever done in his life, his cum shooting down Dean’s throat.

“Thank you, Father.” The girl replied.

Sam waited until the girl had left the church before saying anything. Dean had swallowed Sam’s seed readily, and then pulled his mouth away and suckled at Sam’s still bleeding wound. He straddled Sam’s lap had kissed the priest soundly so that Sam was forced to taste himself – both the salt of own cum and the metallic of his blood. Sam pushed Dean away and Dean released him, but followed Sam as he strode angrily around the empty church.

“That’s no way to say thank you.” Dean noted.

“I didn’t ask for this.” Sam cried. “Please. Leave me alone.”

“That’s not what you say in your sleep.” Dean observed. Sam looked at him sharply. “And you didn’t seem to mind what happened in the confession booth. You enjoyed almost being caught. Next time maybe we’ll let that slut join us.”

“Stop.” Sam sobbed. “Leave me be. Please don’t do me any more favors.”

“Oh, but I’m the only one listening to your prayers.” Dean reminded him. “Without me, your precious monastery would already be in the hands of that developer.”

“Did you have to kill him?” Sam cried.

“How else do I ensure that he won’t try again?” Dean shrugged. “That’s the way we do things in Hell.”

“I can exorcise you again.” Sam threatened.

Dean laughed. “I’ll be back.”

Sam glanced toward the crucifix at the front of the church, despite the fact that there was no help to be had there. When he turned back, Dean was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

Sam couldn’t eat, and struggled with sleeping. He knew that Dean would be back. Still he fretted about the state of the monastery. With the developer dead, there were no obvious solutions to their financial woes. Father Michael was starting to talk about closure of their home, and about other monasteries that would take in the brothers. Sam stopped praying, only making the gestures and speaking the empty words, his mind and heart devoid of intent, when he had to pretend. He put himself into seclusion as often as he could. He had a priest from a neighboring parish take over Sunday services and confession. He handed his responsibility of closing of the church each night to Brother Benny.

The inevitable day came when it was announced the monastery was indeed closing. The situation was untenable and they would only be able to sustain things for another couple of months without some sort of monetary miracle. Most of the brothers were sad but resigned to their fate. Sam still refused to pray, afraid to call Dean back to him.

That night, once he was settled in his bed, Sam shut the light and tried to calm his thoughts. As soon as his eyes started closing though, he felt a presence in the room.

“Hello Sammy.” Dean drawled. “I heard the news.”

“Dean.” Sam said, his voice resigned. He didn’t move from the bed. He felt Dean’s weight sink down on the mattress as the demon settled next to him. In the small bed, they were pressed against each other, and Sam couldn’t help but relish the hot feel of the demon’s skin.

“You didn’t ask me for help.” Dean said matter-of-factly.

“No.” Sam replied. “I don’t want your help.”

“It’s so sad, isn’t it? All these old men, destined to be cast out of the only home they have ever known. Forced into unfamiliar places to live out the remainder of their pathetic lives.” Dean murmured.

Sam was suddenly wide awake. “What do you mean?” Dean didn’t care about the brothers.

“Well, I could put them out of their misery.” Dean mused. “Save everyone the expense and effort-“

“No!” Sam said sharply.

“No?” Dean spoke casually. “I think it would be a mercy. And it would certainly keep the church going for longer.”

“No.” Sam repeated firmly. “You do not hurt anyone.”

“You presume to tell me what to do?” Dean spoke with amusement, but his eyes narrowed in warning. “You belong to me now. Not the church.”

“Please, Dean.” Sam relented. He knew what Dean was capable of.

Dean looked thoughtful for a moment and then smiled at Sam knowingly. “Perhaps there’s another solution we can come to.”

“Whatever it is, it can’t be good.” Sam shook his head.

“Hear me out.” Dean suggested. He snaked one hand down into Sam’s briefs and started stroking lazily. Sam whimpered, pressing back against Dean. Dean took that as acquiescence and continued. “How badly do you want to save your precious monastery? And your precious ‘brothers’?”

Sam only moaned as Dean continued to work him with his skilled fingers.

“Mmm. I love hearing you.” Dean praised. He grazed Sam’s neck with his teeth and Sam froze up. When Dean merely licked at his skin, Sam relaxed.

“Please..” Sam groaned. But whether it was a plea to stop or continue, he didn’t know.

“Sammy.” Dean murmured, his teeth grazing Sam’s skin again. Sam tensed again. Dean chuckled low in his throat. He continued to stroke Sam at a leisurely pace.

Sam whined, he wanted more. He didn’t want gentleness from the demon. He wanted to be punished. Instead, Dean removed his hand and sat up. Sam turned onto his back to look up at him.

“Answer the question, my priest. How desperate are you to save this pathetic place and the foolish men that serve it?” Dean prompted.

Sam whimpered. He didn’t want Dean’s help. It was at too high a cost. “I don’t want-“

Dean cut him off. “What if I could ensure the monastery would be secure for a long, long time?”

Sam looked at Dean sharply. Of course that was what he wanted. But he couldn’t imagine what the payment for such insurance would be. “What…what could the price possibly be?” Sam whispered. 

“You.” Dean answered simply. “Your soul. You become mine for eternity. You leave this place and you become my consort in Hell.”

Sam had expected to feel horror at Dean’s demands. Instead, it felt inevitable to him. It felt like the only way this torture and uncertainty could end. It felt like destiny. Father Henry’s face flashed in his mind and he was grateful the old priest didn’t know what he had become. He was an abomination to the church, a travesty, a mockery of what the cloth was supposed to symbolize. The moment passed, and he was determined to transform his sins into sacrifice. He gave Dean the smallest of nods. Dean smiled, and it wasn’t the smile of a demon. Sam could see his brother in the almost tender expression; it was only marred by the black abyss of the demon’s eyes.

“I’m glad you come willingly, my brother. It saves me the trouble of calling the hellhounds.” Dean praised.

“H-hellhounds?” Sam stuttered.

Dean nodded. Sam flashed back on the bite and claw marks that the coroner’s report had described. Dean had not gone so willingly, apparently. Sam shuddered but Dean didn’t notice.

“You belong with me, Sammy.” Dean acknowledged softly. “You have always belonged to me. From the moment I saved you.”

Sam shuddered thinking of how Dean had saved him. He hadn’t recognized the evil in what his father had done to him until after John’s death, and even then, he had cursed Dean for what he had wrought. Later on, he forgave his brother, and he lit a candle for both John and Dean every day. He hadn’t known how far Dean had fallen. Until Dean had manifested himself to Sam, Sam had truly thought his brother was in Heaven. He wondered if he would have the chance to see John in Hell now.

“So what, now you stab me in the back of the head?” Sam asked querulously.

Dean shook his head. “No, my dear brother. I have something more special for you.”

Sam’s eyes widened with fear, but he had no choice but to trust his brother.

“So let me.” Dean spoke softly. He got out of bed and stood at the foot, regarding Sam tenderly. Sam nodded ever so slightly and Dean smiled broadly. Sam still felt uncertain, but his whole body thrummed with anticipation for what would happen next.

Dean’s movements were slow and deliberate as he crawled onto the bed and then moved upward to straddle Sam. He leaned down over Sam’s stomach and chest to grasp the amulet that Sam always wore around his neck. He kissed it reverently before he replaced it under Sam’s t-shirt, and then ground his hips down, drawing an anguished moan from Sam. As Dean continued to roll his hips against Sam, he grabbed the crucifix that also hung around Sam’s neck and placed one end of the cross in his mouth, sucking on it obscenely. Sam wept at the blasphemy, even as another broken moan escaped his lips.

“You were never meant to be a priest.” Dean growled, spitting the cross out.

He tugged on the crucifix violently so the cord ripped, the leather burning Sam’s skin. Dean tossed the crucifix aside. He placed one hand on Sam’s head, drawing a line across Sam’s forehead. Sam cried out in pain, as sharp invisible spikes pressed into his flesh. Blood dripped into his eyes from the cuts.

“You were meant to live a life with all the pleasures that it entails.” Dean continued even as Sam continued to sob.

He took one of Sam’s hands in his own and kissed it. Sam gasped as an invisible force impaled his palm, and his hand started bleeding. Dean placed Sam’s hand down and Sam struggled to lift it. Dean smiled as he took Sam’s other hand, even though the priest struggled. Sam cried out again as Dean pinned his other hand down. Both palms bled freely. Dean ripped open Sam’s shirt and Sam sobbed. He didn’t try to pray. He knew no one was listening except Dean.

“I sacrificed myself so you could be free from sin.” Dean spoke calmly. “Little did I know that your sin was within you.”

Dean ripped open Sam’s briefs next, but didn’t touch Sam’s cock. Instead he went lower on the bed and then took one leg, bent the knee and kissed Sam’s foot on the arch. Sam screamed as a sharp invisible spike punctured his foot and held it fast to the bed. Dean repeated the motion with his other foot and Sam was weeping with agony. Dean only smiled at Sam, admiring his work. Sam’s arms were spread eagle, his legs bent and slightly apart to display his ass.

“Please Dean, you don’t need to do this…I’m willing to go. I won’t try to run.” Sam sobbed, his face covered with blood and tears.

Dean shook his head. “This is how it has to be, if you want to keep your precious church safe.”

Sam didn’t try to stifle his crying. If someone had heard they would have come to help him by now. Dean straddled Sam again and ran one hand down his naked side. Sam’s body shook with his sobbing and fear, bracing himself for whatever else Dean had in store for him. The demon made a stabbing motion with his hand on Sam’s left side. Sam howled as if he had been impaled. The wound was deep, and started bleeding profusely.

“Don’t you recognize the marks of the Savior?” Dean asked. “The wounds of your Lord, Jesus Christ? One of the holiest manifestations of your faith?”

Sam groaned, as much from the agony as the blasphemy of what Dean was doing to him. Yet throughout the pain and blood, Sam still stayed erect, eager for Dean’s touch.

“And now I will claim you.” Dean promised.

“Please…” Sam moaned. This time it was a plea for Dean to finish what he had started.

Dean dipped his fingers in the wound at Sam’s side, making him cry out. He made sure Sam was watching as he sucked the blood off his fingers. He dipped them in Sam’s wound again and forced his fingers into Sam’s mouth. Sam didn’t try to resist. When Dean kissed him hard, Sam met him with an answering force. He was so hungry for Dean. It was all he had, all he wanted. He could feel Dean’s smile against his lips.

Dean moved downward again, kissing along Sam’s jaw, licking the tears and blood from Sam’s skin. He paused at Sam’s nipples, sucking hard and nipping so Sam moaned and writhed with pleasure. He continued down the length of Sam’s body, but only ghosted his breath over Sam’s cock. Instead he knelt between Sam’s bent legs and kissed Sam’s thighs. He used his hands to spread Sam’s ass open and then Sam felt Dean’s hot tongue against his opening. Sam yelped in shock.

Dean laughed against Sam, and then began to lick him mercilessly. He thrust his tongue hard into Sam’s hole, sucking at the rim meanwhile and letting his teeth graze Sam’s skin. Sam cried out with pleasure, feeling wanton and depraved. When Dean thrust his fingers in without warning, Sam’s hips lifted off the bed jerkily. Dean lifted his head to watch Sam’s face as he continued to pump his hand in and out of his brother’s hungry hole.

“Pray for it, my priest.” Dean commanded, his lip curling as he watched Sam. He continued to plunge his fingers in and out of his brother. Sam mewled and sobbed, his hips pressing up to meet Dean’s hand.

“Please, Dean! Please!” Sam moaned.

“Please what?” Dean prompted.

“Please, take me. Please…I need you.” Sam begged.

Dean growled and removed his hand from Sam’s clenching hole. He quickly positioned himself and thrust inside with a roar. He didn’t wait for Sam to get used to his thickness but immediately began pounding into Sam’s ass.

“ _Christo_!” Sam gasped, his eyes locked on Dean’s as the demon pumped in and out.

“Guess again.” Dean smirked, even as he continued to move.

“Dean..” Sam moaned. The pain from his wounds only seemed to enhance his pleasure.

Dean slammed hard against Sam’s prostate and Sam sobbed as the demon pounded it again and again. He was close to coming undone.

“You have to wait, my priest.” Dean growled, seeing the desperate look on Sam’s face. “Otherwise, your sacrifice will be for nought.”

“I’m so close…” Sam wept. “Ah! Oh my God! Forgive me…”

Sam screamed as he came, his cock spurting between their bodies, his walls clenching hard around Dean.

“Oh fuck! Sammy!” Dean moaned. The demon’s hips stuttered and then he was pressing Sam into the mattress as he slammed his cock deep inside, filling his brother with his hot seed.

They rocked together through the remainder of their orgasms. Dean kissed Sam hard, devouring his brother’s mouth as they shuddered through the last waves of pleasure. Finally they both stilled.

“It’s done.” Dean whispered.


	10. Chapter 10

Brother Benny could swear there was someone else in the church that night as he snuffed the candles and checked the doors. He felt fearful as he hurried to complete the evening’s duties. Just as he was leaving the church, he heard a voice calling.

_Benny…_

The monk turned toward the altar, where the voice was coming from. He gasped and made the sign of the cross when he saw the glowing white apparition.

_Do not be afraid…_

Benny was drawn toward the altar, moving as if in a dream. As he got closer, he could see that it was a man dressed all in white. It was hard to make out his features because of the bright light that emanated from the figure, but as he reached the altar, the light faded and he recognized the face.

It was Father Sam, and he seemed happy and peaceful; the weariness that had burdened him for the past weeks seemed to have been erased. But why was he wearing that suit, and where had the light come from? Brother Benjamin opened his mouth to speak.

_It will be ok. I will always watch over you._

“Father?” The monk gasped, dumbfounded by the priest’s appearance and words. “What do you mean?”

_It will be ok._

A strong wind suddenly whipped through the church although all the windows and doors were closed. Benny lifted his hands to shield his face, but the wind died down as suddenly as it had started. Benny lowered his hands and looked back to the altar.

Sam was gone.

…

When Sam woke, he found no sign of the wounds that Dean had bestowed upon him. He was dressed in a clean white tunic and nothing else. He sat up and looked around; his surroundings were unfamiliar and infinitely more luxurious than the austere monk’s cell he had lived in all his life. He was in a canopied four poster bed that was dressed in blood red. The walls were painted a matching red, and the floor was covered with obsidian tiles. 

His eyes scanned the immense room, taking in the centerpiece of the room, which was a painting of the fall of man; Adam and Eve fleeing Eden while the Serpent chased them. Two armchairs faced the painting. Sam realized there was someone sitting in one of the chairs.

“Come here, my prince.” The voice was music to Sam’s ears.

Sam walked slowly to stand in front of the occupied chair. Dean sat as regal as a king, dressed in a black suit with a matching black tie. His black eyes flicked to green, and he smiled warmly at Sam.

“Kneel before me.” Dean commanded.

Sam obeyed and knelt in front of Dean’s feet. He looked up at his brother, awaiting his next command.

“You may kiss my feet.” Dean said benevolently. Sam knew it wasn’t a choice.

He looked down at Dean’s feet, clad in shoes so immaculately shined that Sam could almost see his reflection. He pressed his lips on the tips of the shoes. His eyes slipped shut as he remembered another time, when he had pressed his lips to another set of feet. That time, that life, was completely irrelevant now. This was his reality now.

“Rise, my prince.” Dean murmured. 

Sam opened his eyes and stood up in wonder. He found that he was now dressed in a pristine white suit, reminiscent of those that children wore during their First Communion. The memory of performing the ceremony for so many of his younger parishioners flashed in his mind briefly, but it seemed like a distant dream. Dean reached out his hand and Sam clutched it. He raised his brother from the chair with reverence. Dean embraced him tightly and then put a hand on the back of Sam's head, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. Dean released Sam and then reached inside his jacket to produce a pair of matching rings. He handed one of them to Sam.

“For eternity.” Dean promised as he slid the ring onto Sam’s hand.

“For eternity.” Sam echoed, and slid the ring he held onto Dean’s hand.

As Dean kissed him again, this time with more urgency, Sam’s heart lifted.

Finally, he was where he belonged.


	11. Epilogue

Sam Winchester’s body was found in his bed, naked and bloodied, with the signs of stigmata. His forehead bore wounds resembling those that Christ received from his thorny crown, those on his hands and feet resembled the nails that had held him to the cross, and the wound at his side appeared to have been made by a spear.

When the brothers of the order of St. Ignatius were questioned, many of them mentioned that the priest had been troubled of late, and appeared to be gaunt and exhausted. They had assumed it was due to the financial troubles of the monastery. Father Winchester was one of the more outspoken opponents of the abbot's decision to accept the land development offer. The proposal had been ended abruptly when the developer was found murdered a month ago. Since then the monastery had continued to struggle, and the day before Sam Winchester’s death, the abbot had announced that St. Ignatius was closing.

However, the strangest part of this tale is not the violent way that the priest was killed. The day after Sam Winchester’s death, there was a call from the local bank informing the abbot that a bank account had been opened in the name of the church with an initial deposit of ten million dollars. Police are investigating and determining if there is any possible link between the donation and the murder, but there is an unusual lack of evidence.

In the meantime, St. Ignatius will not be closing.


End file.
